The instrument
by D-eadLovers
Summary: For years, Bellatrix devoted her art to her master's service, her instrument becoming another way to satisfy him. Now he's gone, it is also the only way she has to pay tribute to his "memory". Written for the 67th challenge of the Dark lord's most faithful forum.


_Title: the instrument. Challenge prompt: For this challenge you are to write about a hidden talent. You may choose any character and any hobby but the catch is that this absolutely may __not_ be a crack fic. There should be an in depth exploration of how the character discovered/came by said talent, how they feel about it, and why they did/didn't pursue it.

Each flash of light illuminated not only the blindingly blue sky, but also the fair face of the young woman who was gazing pensively at the keys of her instrument.

Her bare feet pressed against the lyre of her magnificent black piano, she seemed oblivious to the ruckus from outside, as well as to the words that came from the ancient radio, although she had magically turned up the volume only a few minutes ago.

Gifted in the art of pretending, every burst of laughter or cry of joy was like a stab through her soul, piercing her heart and causing a pain severe enough to shatter whatever sanity she had left. In terrible torment and desperate to escape it, she hit the black and the white keys, her touch laced with a finesse only she could display.

Soon she was out of reach, from the detonations caused by the pyrotechnic show that was taking place at the moment as well as from the yells of the overexcited crowd that had gathered to attend it. None of that din could disturb the woman, as she was now playing, marveling at the sounds she could produce with a mere caress over the keys.

The clamour from the revellers was therefore drowned out by the stunning melody the dark-haired woman was performing, handling her instrument as skillfully as she usually did her wand. Pianist extraordinaire, she had indeed shown, from a very young age, an innate gift for music – to the greatest pleasure of her father, Cygnus, delighted to see his eldest express interest for an activity that did not involve the destruction of various items, or the display of force against one of her younger cousins.

Bestowed with exceptional skill for performing, she discovered with the years that she also was a prodigious composer. However, she used that gift in a quite peculiar manner: spontaneous, only intense emotional disruptions allowed her to create.

As she stopped playing for a moment to transcribe on paper the succession of notes that had filled the room only moments earlier, she noticed that the silvery colours had turned to gold, while the doubtlessly drunken group of wizards had now launched into a rather crude song. Outraged by such a spectacle, she preferred taking her melody up again where she had interrupted it, rather than to listen to the offensive lyrics that the crowd bellowed at the top of their lungs in their celebration. At that moment, she remembered the day in which music had taken a wholly new dimension in her eyes.

* * *

Overwhelmed by her feelings for the one she gladly called her lord and master, she could not ignore the rush of emotions that always came with the memory of the man who had taught her everything. Having spent a moment in his company less than an hour ago – though it had been much too short for her tastes – she still trembled as she remembered the grace he had shown in each of his moves, and the impressive way he had of performing the most complex curses, with a smooth move of his wand.

But it was his voice that triggered her most shameful fantasies. It was his voice, sometimes high and intimidating, sometimes soft and mysterious, that inspired her finest works. It was no surprise that after each encounter with the Dark Lord – be it a meeting attended by all, as it had been today, or one in which he spoke to her privately – she remained for hours in front of her black piano, turning the confused sensations into notes, which then shaped pieces of great beauty. In a trance, she delighted in the feeling of her fingers slipping across the keys, imagining the modulations of his voice in a more, ah… intimate setting. What wouldn't she give to feel his breath on her neck, his lips against her skin, his hands on her chest and his oh-so-melodic voice promising her infinite pleasures?

She played more intensely, more passionately while she imagined his lips slipping lower and lower, his hands becoming bolder. Her eyes drifting shut, she shivered, trying to picture her master's face as he would disclose her nudity and…

"This is exquisite, Bellatrix."

Shaken out of her daze by those words whose source was unmistakable, Bellatrix stopped playing abruptly, feeling uneasy all of a sudden.

"My Lord, I am deeply sorry for any disturbance I may have caused you," she said, motioning to the piano with one elegantly manucured hand. "I hadn't realized you were still there."

The Dark Lord, leaning nonchalantly against the solid wooden door, sipped lazily on his glass of Firewhiskey before answering his servant. Staring intently at his lips, she flushed in embarrassment as she recalled, only a few moments ago, having wanted this very mouth to do improper things to her. She had to look away, and noticed, as her gaze swept over him, that he was dressed plainly, yet with elegance.

"Quite the contrary," he replied, "Keep going, Bella. You may pretend I am not there."

"With all due respect, my Lord, I am afraid that to capture death and offer it to you as a prisoner, or to create a curse that would break all of magic's elementary laws, or even to make a respectable wizard of Marius Crabbe, would all be far easier tasks to me than to pretend to ignore your presence."

Lord Voldemort, amused by her comment, burst into a fit of laughter, which astonished Bellatrix, for the dark wizard wasn't known for his jovial nature.

"Play for me then," he finally said, settling in front of her, on a red velvet seat.

With a nod of her head, Bellatrix started playing again.

Quickly, she realized that his mere presence was fueling the passion and emotion in her performance, and as she looked up to see whether he was enjoying the tune she played, she was stunned by the look of pure pleasure on his features, which he was hardly attempting to conceal.

More so than he would ever have liked to admit, the delight he was experiencing was as much a result of the virtuosity of the musician as of the display of aesthetic perfection she was offering. Beautiful enough to serve as a model or a muse for every engraver, painter or photographer of this world, she had pulled up her hair in a high bun, a few loose strands escaping here and there, and wore a mid-thigh gown that revealed her long, slender legs. And though a stranger to love, he wasn't to lust, therefore, beyond the delicacy of her touch and the energy she poured in her art, he couldn't help but notice the way her chest seemed to rise with each note, the flush on her cheeks, and her laboured breathing.

From that moment on, she devoted her art to her master's service, her instrument becoming yet another way to satisfy him. Remedy for the wrath and aggravation he often felt, those musical encounters soon became a ritual, for the young witch's greatest pleasure.

* * *

In a flood of tears over the keyboard of the beloved object, she realized that this time might just be gone forever. At least that was what seemed to think the man who now spoke on the wizarding radio, delighted to announce the downfall of the one who had forced the magical world into a decade of terror, just like those who were loudly celebrating the end of the one whose mark her alabaster skin had been branded with for years.

But as she gazed at the symphony her quill had only just transcribed, she knew, with more certainty than ever before, that the Dark Lord's era was not over yet.

It was the most beautiful piece she had ever composed… and it was no requiem.

The end

_Review? _

_The dedication of this fanfic won't be split seven ways, but only two: For Azzie, for being an amazing Bêta reader and the best translator of all times, and for Sarah.M , for...being her incredible-bellatrix-lover self. _


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